Pointe of Perception
by DoeFox
Summary: Under the scrutiny of the Paris Opera Ballet, Marinette needs to bring a new edge to her performance. Where better for the starring Odette to go than the streets? / Dance AU, masks but no powers. ON HOLD until I rewrite existing chapters.
1. No 01 Scène: Allegro giusto

**So this is most of what I've written so far. Unlike with the musician AU I'm working on, I'll be posting this as I go along instead of finishing it first. Please be patient, I'm a very busy person! I'll try to get this done as soon as possible, I hope you enjoy! c:**

 **Also, I used to dance mostly ballet and a few things on the side, but it's been a while. Feel free to correct me! Story line suggestions are also welcomed, but I've got most of the plot all worked out. I love hearing your guys' opinions. ^^**

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The refinement by which a ballet dancer treads is what makes them as a whole. The grace of a swan, the posture of a delicate glass vase. A ballerina holds a crystal between her fingers, always careful not to drop it. They're stepping on air, gliding through the clouds, conveying through movement exactly what they want everyone to know.

"Relax, Marinette. No, not that much. Mar- wait," the instructor sighed, striding over to the side of the room to pause the music. The small class of six girls and two boys all stopped in their warm-up, sliding down against the wall to calmly stretch their legs. Marinette let out a deep huff of breath, massaging her right foot behind her as she remained standing.

"I know, Madame Caline. I'm sorry, I'll do better next run," she told her, resisting the urge to rub a hand over her forehead and stifling a disrespectful yawn.

The thirty year old dance teacher watched the girl doubtfully, motioning her further towards the end of the room. Her voice quieted, and her tone softened out of care. "You've never had an issue with concentration before. I know I'm not supposed to say this, but you're my best dancer," she confided, glancing around the room to see the other students chatting in a circle off to the side. One of the boys looked over curiously, but quickly returned to the group.

At the praise, Marinette blushed and shifted on her feet. "I… I've just had a lot on my mind, is all. I haven't been getting as much sleep as I should." Her eyes had drifted to the floor, but she brought them back up in order to assure to Madame Bustier that she'd be fine now. "May I just run for a quick bit of water? I'll be alright after that."

"Alright," she nodded, placing a delicate hand on the student's shoulder blade and guiding her gently to the door. "We'll finish warm-ups, and then start on the choreography when you get back?"

She nodded, smiling gratefully. "Sounds great, thank you."

"No problem, Marinette. Please come to me if you ever have any more problems, yes?"

"Of course. I'll be right back," she agreed, slipping out of the room towards the girl's dressing room. She riffled through her bag, pulling out her water bottle. Shaking it, only a small portion of water sloshed around. She sighed, as she'd have to head out into the lobby to refill it. Her dark eyes trained on the way her hands shook, tired and stressed from the trials of her future. She finally let her eyelids droop, the usual light in her eyes dimmed significantly.

Readjusting all the hems of her leotard, she took a breath in preparation to head to the lobby. Going out there in tights always put her on edge, but she could never explain why. There was never a problem with it on stage, but the casual atmosphere of just walking amidst people clad in jeans and jackets made her feel under severe observation.

Downing the last of her water, she pushed open the dressing room's door and stepped out. Right into a solid wall that was apparently a person. Her bottle shot to the ground, the remaining few sips of water spilling onto the carpet. "Oh, god, I'm so sorr…" she looked up, trailing off in her apology when she realized who it was. "Sorry," she choked out.

His concerned green eyes blinked down at her, and his right hand came up to steady her by her arm. The soft touch had her face heating up and pulse racing. "No, I'm sorry," he told her gently. A sheepish smile spread across his mouth and his thumb moved absent-mindedly over her warming skin. "I was just coming out to make sure you were okay," he assured her, letting her go when he decided she was steady enough. "You looked a little shaken in there."

"O-oh," she stammered, always taken away by even the simplest concept of his presence. "Well, thank you. I um, I appreciate it." She swallowed, bringing her lips in between her teeth and nodding absently. "I'm alright, though. Just… water!" Her shout startled him, and she noticed he looked alarmed. "Right, well. Water," she coughed, stooping over to grab the bottle and rushing out to the lobby doors. She glanced at him briefly out of the corner of her eye and saw him just standing there, staring after her in bewilderment.

Once she was in the lobby, doors closed securely behind her, she brought her hand up to slam against her forehead. She mumbled various forms of 'stupid' under her breath as she approached the water fountain. It wasn't until she reached it that she realized she'd garnered the attention of everyone there. She glanced around before ducking into her shoulders, quietly refilling the bottle.

"Excuse me Miss, forgive the intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice your… ah, woe."

Her head whipped over to face the older man at her left, eyes wide and startled. "Oh, um. Hi. Sorry about the commotion, I didn't mean to disturb anybody."

He smiled, shaking his head in a way that seemed oddly wise. "You're quite alright. Please, call me Fu," he greeted her, holding out his hand to shake.

"Marinette," she smiled back, put into a sort of ease by his conversation. She shook his hand then twisted the cap of her bottle back on securely. "Are you a parent? Administrator? I've never met any of the really high up staff," she enthused, truly curious about the man.

He shook his head negatively, slipping his hands into his pockets. "No. Just an… interested party, if you will." Her eyebrows knit in confusion, but she didn't press. "Actually, I was just about to go in and observe a class," he told her, producing a visitor's pass and folded information packet.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "this is the class I'm in." Her eyes roamed over the visitor's pass carefully once more before passing it back over. "I can take you there, if you like."

Something about the way he watched her seemed almost like that of an employer to a possible employee. He seemed to be grading her, or something, she frowned. "I would like that, thank you."

She nodded, spreading her hand out in the direction of the door she'd come from. "Just follow me," she told him, taking a quick sip of water as she walked. Through the doors and off of the tile, carpet once again softening her steps, the two passed by Chloe Bourgeois. The blonde flipped her tied back hair snootily, taking extra care to stomp in her tap shoes. Marinette herself brought a careful hand up to make sure her bun was still tight, and that the top of her head was still smoothed back with hairspray.

She found herself under the wrath of the other girl quite often, be it merely for talking to Adrien after class or washing her hands in the bathroom for too long. Very often it was when she was sitting on the carpeted floor outside of the ballet room she had class in, tying up her pointe shoes, when the blonde would approach her and take a few stabs.

She usually had at least some reason, Marinette supposed, so it wasn't as if they were always completely unwarranted. Stupid of reasons as they were. "Um, here we are." They were stopped in front of the doors, and Marinette realized suddenly that she was probably gone far longer than she should have been. He nodded after another moment of just standing there, and she broke out of her thought to push open the door.

All of the students turned to look at them, and so did the instructor. A slow composition rolled on quietly, and she realized with a start that she'd shoved the door open rather loudly. "I'm so sorry," she cringed, plucking at her tights.

"Who's this, Marinette?" At the instructor's question, the man in question handed her his pass and papers. "Oh," she said, scanning over the sheets. "Oh, pleased to see you, Master Fu. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," she said, finally reaching over to pause the music.

"I apologize for the unexpected intrusion," he said solemnly, "I had a change in schedule."

Madame Caline smiled and nodded, extending an inviting hand towards the room. "Well, then. Welcome to my class. I hope you enjoy it. All we're doing right now is choreographing a piece for our next performance."

The other danseur, Nathanael, pulled a stool out of the corner. The room had no chairs, the only seats being two surprisingly comfy wooden stools. He set it up at the front of the room, next to where the other one already sat for the instructor, and waved at Marinette on the way there. "Thank you," Master Fu said to both Nath and Madame Bustier. "I hear that the production of Swan Lake is fast approaching?"

"Why yes," Madame Bustier said pleasantly. "That's what we're preparing for. Every year that it plays we make adjustments to the dance according to the dancers, and everybody in this room has a role." She swept an arm in the direction of the students, "In fact Marinette and Adrien are playing the leads. We'd love your input as well, of course," she commented before browsing through the discs.

Marinette shifted uneasily under the praising eyes of Master Fu, rather modest about the whole 'playing the lead' part of it all. Really, while she was ecstatic about landing the parts of Odette and Odile, she was more proud of being selected to design the costumes. Well, less of actually designing than altering the old outfits. The company wanted a re-do to the old, without completely changing them. She was happy to take on the task.

"I'd like to go over Odette and Siegfried's dance after the ball," Madame Bustier said, putting in the correct disc and skipping to the scene's arrangement. "Nathanael, I'd like you to step in as Rothbart for now, do you remember the steps?"

"Yes, Madame Caline," the boy agreed, moving to the corner of the room where he'd make his entrance. The girls who weren't in the scene all sat by Fu's stool, including Juleka and Lila who were a white and black swan respectively. Lila sent Marinette a sour glare, and the receiving girl began to wonder how she'd gained so many enemies.

Marinette crossed ever to where Madame was still fiddling with the radio and picked up the tutu from the small table there. She slipped it on, the white of the skirt contrasting with the standard black leotard she wore to class every day. She noted dimly that it looked better than with the pink one she used outside of class. She also sat down to switch her shoes out for her almost-new pair of pointes. They'd been worn once before, and they just needed a few more minutes to completely break in. She let out a short breath when she was done, standing and taking her place in the room.

"Ready?"

"Yes," the two leads chorused, finding their positions. The music started, a beautiful vibrato encompassing the room. The instructor walked around them slowly, counting to eight quietly a few times before she simply nodded the beats and took her seat on the remaining stool. Everybody watched them carefully, enraptured by the beautiful intimacy with which they danced with one another.

Marinette was careful to keep the wispy style of dance that Odette had in the earlier acts, graceful as the swan she was, as well as add a new confident sort of passion that came with all the trials the pair had gone through. "Deeper," the teacher instructed, and they both increased the dependency on one another. Marinette lifted onto her right toe, and from behind her Adrien lifted her over his shoulder, turning slowly.

She arched backwards, draping gracefully against his back before raising again and sliding down his front to stand again. He turned her so that she was facing him, and Odette forgave him as Marinette brought her right upper arm onto his shoulder, hand reaching up above his head. They swept easily into another meaningful set of steps before Rothbart entered, stealing the Queen of the Swans away to engage in his own powerful dance with her.

Siegfried turned off to the side, begging Rothbart to give her back. She was _his_. Finally, Odette breaks free and rushes to her love, who sweeps her into a miserable sort of twirling dance before they seal themselves in death. Rose and Alix clap enthusiastically when their done, and Madame Bustier stands to turn the music off.

"Excellent," she praised, skipping back between tracks again. "I'm glad to see that you're doing better, marinette."

"I feel better," she responds, beaming under the exhilaration of a performance gone right. "I do have a question about the part right at the end with Rothbart?"

The older woman nodded, turning to face her student. "Yes, I noticed that, too. Let's alter the steps there. I think maybe you should start with your right, and bring your arms up from first to fourth instead of second."

Marinette nodded, bringing Nath to his pose while she tried out the alterations.

The rest of class continued on in a similar manner, routines being practiced and tailored to the dancers. Rose, a Cygnet, practiced with the instructor, while Juleka and Lila did their own parts around them. Alix did her Polish dance with Adrien as her counterpart substitute, and Aurore her Neapolitan dance with Madame as a substitute. Nathanael, playing as Benno, did his dance with Adrien until the last minute of class while Marinette and Rose substituted as their dance partners.

"Alright class, that's time. You'll all continue tomorrow in rehearsal. Thank you," Madame Bustier curtsied. The class in turn offered their own port de bras, murmuring a collective 'thank you' as well.

Marinette picked up her discarded shoes on the way out, very nearly bumping into Adrien. When he noticed her right beside him, he praised her on her performance. "O-oh," she stuttered exactly as usual. "Thank you, too you. I mean, uh. You, too. Great. You did great."

He gave her an odd smile and nodded in thanks, turning off with a wave to enter the boys' dressing room.

"Uhgh," she grumbled, slamming the hand holding her shoes onto her forehead in embarrassment.

"I see I've caught you once again at an inopportune moment."

She brought down her hand quickly, turning to face Master Fu. "Oh, hello."

He smiled, holding out a clean white card with just a few lines of text. She took it slowly, reading his contact info and his cleanly printed name on the top center. "I like your dancing, Marinette."

"You-" she cut off, glancing at him dubiously. He nodded sagely, though, and her mouth gaped open wide.

"I am. The board's been interested in you for a while, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You're a talented young lady, you've gotten so far for being only seventeen."

She closed her mouth to swallow, her eyes drawn again to the pristine card between her fingers. "Me. You want… me?"

"Yes," told her patiently, watching her with a wise stance and perspicacious gaze. "You may be the youngest dancer to reach such success with us, and we're looking for raw talent like that."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and her head began to pound with a million emotions shouting at her all at once. "I can't- I… Thank you so much!" she exclaimed finally, resisting the urge to jump on him in a large hug.

"Just give the offices a call and leave your information, we'll get back to you."

She shook her head rapidly, then nodded a little slower and calmer. "Of course. Thank you again. I could never repay you to the extent of my gratefulness," she rambled, nearly in tears. Dancing was one of her biggest passions, and she was almost floored to a literal extent at what was currently in her hands. Physically in her hands, she grinned, staring down at the little white card as though it were her savior.

"No need," he smiled again, and she was overtaken by just how nice he was. "Your presence in our ballet will be more than enough."

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering, waving as he turned to walk away. Once he was a respectable distance away, she let the burning squeal burst from her lips and she raced into the dressing room. She nearly tore her pointe shoes off and shoved everything into her bag. Sliding on her comfortable sneakers, she raced out the door and ran once again into Adrien. This time, since he was walking past the door, he stumbled a little to the side.

Marinette collected her balance again. "Sorry!" In addition to the apology, she waved the business card in his face and laughed in disbelief, racing into the lobby and finally outside onto the sidewalk. The boy stared after her, a confused but extremely enthused smile took over his expression. Beside him, a few of the girls stuck their head out of the dressing room door to stare after where the lobby door swung shut.

Normally after class, Marinette would change back into her casual close and put her hair down in her usual pigtails, but in her excitement she'd run outside in her ballet outfit, tutu and all. She pulled out her cell, calling Alya to pass on the news.

"Hel-"

"I got a business card!"

There was a pause, in which Marinette could only guess her friend just blinked. People passing her on the sidewalk sent her odd looks, including a boy her age who had the gall to appraise her. She ignored them all, though, bouncing in place. "What?"

"I- dance- and… I got a card!"

Her friend seemed to understand, and she squealed in turn. "Congrats, Girl! I always knew you'd get really far really fast! Now if only you could just talk to A-"

"Bye!" Marinette rushed to hang up before having to confront that whole debacle. She took a moment to calm her blush, breathing calmly a few times before regaining the motor skills to walk to the bus stop. The entire ride to her house was spent in agony, both because she was writhing to tell her parents and the males on the vehicle were making her uncomfortable.

When they finally reached her stop, she flung herself out the door and ran the next block to her family's bakery. She nearly ripped the door open, exclamation of success upon her lips. Her words died quickly, though, when she saw who was there.


	2. No 02 Waltz: Tempo di valse

**A little shorter this time, but I wanted to get something out. c:**

 **Thank you for reading!**

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"Marinette," the stranger said in simple surprise. "Why aren't you changed?"

Her eyes slithered over the bakery, noticing just how empty it seemed. "I uh…" she trailed off, adjusting her bag strap over her shoulder. "I had news. For my parents."

"Had?" Marinette's brows furrowed, the backs of her legs and shoulders rising in anticipation. What was going on? Her mind raced with half-formed possibilities, nothing really strong enough to consider. No solutions really sprang out, either, so she decided just to keep her place for the time being. She wasn't sure how dangerous the situation was yet.

She nodded slowly, eyes moving like viscous molasses to watch the unrelated party once more. "Um, hello," she deadpanned awkwardly, wondering if she was going to be murdered or something. The whole way the stranger had reacted to her entrance had her thrown, unsure of how she should react. It was like all of her basic thoughts had escaped, left behind in her mad rush to get home.

Normally a guest in the bakery was nothing new, as they could fairly easily draw in a crowd. Her parents' baked goods were amazing, and she's heard it from complete strangers as well. Bias she could be, but a stranger's words could leak truth. Or something like that, she couldn't remember quite what her teacher had said.

This time, though, the bakery was empty around the two of them, and she noticed coming in that the sign read closed but it didn't really register with her until then. All that aside, the woman was a kind of peculiar of which Marinette was unused to. Of course living in Paris gave her a keen insight on the oddities of humankind, but this was of another sort. A sort that she found curiously pleasant.

The stranger stood, short but thin, and offered her a warm smile. Her eyes were the colour of the ocean depths, hair a bright red with lipstick to match. On top of the hair piled on her head was a black beret, pristine in condition and shape. She held out a hand, nails painted red as well, and took a step closer. "I see that you're nervous; I'd like to assuage your panic. I'm TIkki, pleased to meet you."

Something about the woman gave her this ridiculous need to smile, but she resisted. "Where are my parents?" Marinette asked, instead of responding to the woman.

Tikki's hand dropped to her side when she noticed quite clearly that there would be no formal greetings. "They went to the store," she explained, "something about flour."

Shifting in her sneakers, the teen eyed her sharply. "And they left you in here? Alone? I've never heard of you before," she said doubtfully.

The woman sat nimbly on a table, legs crossing over the edge so that one toe just barely passed the floor. "Actually, I'm here for you. They don't know I'm here, and they don't know I exist." Something about her presence was still so jovial, bursting with something akin to spring breezes. Yet, her tone altered with a tone of seriousness that mingled with her cheer. It didn't overtake, as it did with most other people.

There was a dull thud as a child's rubber ball bounced off the window, ricocheting back into the sidewalk. "How did you get in?" If there was one thing Marinette knew about her parents, it was that they _always_ locked their doors.

"I had a cookie," she said simply. "I simply love chocolate chip," she confided sideways after a moment of thought. No breakthrough of understanding evolved over Marinette's facials, and so Tikki twisted her fingers slowly and eyed her critically. "I'm interested in your success, Marinette. A lot of people are, for better or for worse. You know how much competition there is in the dancing world, competition people die for. However quiet it is, however unnoticed, it's there. People are conniving about it, and so I make it my business to be so, too."

She realized with a start that if anybody were to hurt her, it wasn't going to be Tikki. Maybe part of the reassurance was the air the lady put on, but there was some trust that ran at a much more significant depth than that alone. Finally, with the ability to disregard just a little bit of alarm, she put down her bag and shoes, slipping the white card between her leotard strap and shoulder. "If the bad attention is from competition, then what about the good?"

Tikki shrugged, hands lifting minimally in the act. "Mostly the same reason. Associated with a successful dancer? You're rich. But that's not why I'm here," she said, ignoring the younger girl's raised brow and unimpressed frown.

"Really? Then why?"

Dark eyes regarded her carefully, silent and searching. "I believe you're more than a dancer, Marinette. You have an untouched ability to do anything, to become anything, really. I'm interested in you, not the money."

Hands found hips, and Marinette adopted a confrontational stance. "That didn't answer my question."

A laugh escaped her red lips, a cheerful and entirely pleasant sound. "Fair enough," she conceded, adjusting her position on the table. "I'd like to help you Marinette, broaden your horizons. I work not for the board, but an interested party on the board. We want to see you do well, you have the ability to rise above the stars." At her words, her hand came up to gesture across the ceiling grandly.

"Who?"

"You'll know, eventually. For now it's a secret. Letting the name leak could be dangerous."

Marinette just hummed, leaning against a different table.

Tikki breathed in deeply, letting all out in one quick exhale. "Well, I guess the most obvious reason for supporting you is international competition. We can't be letting these new folk like The Royal Ballet get a step ahead. Then there's what you can do for others."

"Others? Aren't _you_ others?"

She shook her head, shifting in her seat once again. "No. Not in the same way. Listen, I have to go. I'd like you to keep this little meeting a secret from your parents," she asked, standing up and dusting her skirt off.

"A secret? From my parents? You're crazy," she said, crossing her arms. "I still don't really know who you are. You're in my home, uninvited. And I still don't know what you want. There's so much going on right now that I don't understand."

Biting her lip sympathetically, Tikki crossed over to the door. "I'll explain it all later," she said, holding out a black card for her to take. Marinette hesitated a moment before she did so, still unsure about this 'Tikki' character. "But there's incentive to keep this quiet for now behind the cash register."

At the reference to the counter, the dancer glanced over at it. Finally she sighed, taking the card from the hand beside her. "We'll see," she said at last, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"You'll like it," she asserted, stepping quietly out the door.

The bakery's silence increased tenfold, and in it Marinette glanced down at the card. The writing was white, not red like she'd expected. With a curious hum, she rounded the counter where the register sat and squatted down to assess the shelves hidden there. Right in the very middle of everything rested a pristine red box, large and wrapped in a black satin ribbon.

Interest piqued, she quickly re-locked the door before rushing up the stairs. Only when she was nestled comfortably on her chaise did she unravel the ribbon and slip open the lid. Black tissue paper folded neatly over the contents, and she felt it odd that this may be a set of clothing. Why would that hold her tongue?

Preparing herself first, glancing at all the shamelessly revered magazine pages of Adrien, she slowly peeled back the paper to reveal what was indeed a set of clothing. Her brow furrowed, and she pulled out the first article. It was a gorgeous vermilion leotard, bespeckled with slightly darker accents in such a way that the illusion of black dots was created, despite them not really being there. Setting it down, intrigued, she burrowed a little more hastily into the cloth beneath it.

They were tights, nearly transparent but holding just enough black pigment to not be. A matching set, she realized. A set to match Tikki's hair, apparently. Laid out rather obviously in the box next was a silk, classical tutu, made to match the leotard and weighed down by a pair of black pointes. She pulled them both out, surprised to see more yet beneath them.

Before delving deeper, she stood up and arranged the clothing on her bed. Upon further investigation, she noticed that there were discreet slots in the bodice-like leotard to make attachment of the skirt easier, a form of costume she'd never seen before. Why would she need to disengage her skirt like this? Why weren't they just attached to begin with, like normal outfits were? She supposed it had something to do with this whole mystery surrounding how she could help 'others.'

She reached back into the box, not bothering to sit back down. She pulled out a pair of black sweat pants, which wasn't really unusual for a ballerina to own. The difference was the style. These was a baggy make, with shorter legs in favor of a lower crotch. She tossed it carelessly onto the chaise, reaching in to pull out what looked like a red sports bra, covered in a pattern of large black dots. She frowned. Why were strangers giving her bras?

She also pulled out a hooded vest, arm holes reaching maybe four inches above the bottom hem. Black, of course. This was weird, she thought. No way was she going to keep this a secret. As soon as her parents got home, she was going to tell them everything that had happened. Glancing absently into the box for the last time, she picked it up to put in the corner of her room. When she did so, though. It held a weight and made the sound of shifting objects.

Odd, she noted, dropping it back down on her furniture. She tore away what she had assumed to be the bottom layer of tissue paper, revealing a pair of black and red skate sneakers. Next to them was a gorgeous, elaborate mask; initially red with black lace. On the other side of that was the very last object: another red box. Her first thought was that it was a bomb, but it would have to be a fairly flat bomb if that were the case. The paranoid part of her brain wouldn't relax, though, and so she had to rip the lid off before she lost her nerve. Inside was a tub of red face paint, as well as a small black case with an indistinguishable engraving and four red ribbons.

She opened the case to find a note, written in blue cursive.

 _'The club two blocks from your ballet center, I'm sure you've seen it. Eleven P.M. Wear a hood.'_

Her pulse raced, breath quickening in anticipation. Secret kept for now, she supposed. This was far too interesting to just give away. The thought made her halt, though, because it came with the realization that this was exactly what that woman wanted. _'You'll Like it,'_ she'd said, and Marinette realized with a faint disappointment that her every move had been anticipated. Expected. Her emotions were predicted, thoughts foreseen.

She may as well have agreed to do as the woman wanted right when she'd walked in the door. Frowning, she lifted the note to see what lay beneath. A make-up palette, she saw with confusion. It was a ranging set of nudes, and then dark black eye products. She lifted the palette up from its tab, and below was a little piece of paper that outlined how to disguise her facials with the skin-tainted colours. From the pictures printed on it, it looked like she could give herself gaunt cheeks and a sharper look altogether. Curious about the mask as well, she wondered why she'd need an alternate physical identity for what TIkki had planned for her.

Slowly, her eyes trailed back to the note.


End file.
